Kenophobia
by Feerique-Freak
Summary: the genre should be pondering, but that's not on the list. my first not slash fic! harry wonders how he's gotten to the point he's at.


Though this is a strange story, it sort of makes me laugh when I remember how it came about. I was listening to 3 doors down, quite a depressing cd, and I had been talking on msn with my feet curled around the chair leg for so long, when I tried to stand up to get a drink, my leg collapsed. I had to sit back down and put it in the same position again, and wheel the chair over to my drink. Amazing how the smallest activities can lead to a plot. Though I love slash, this isn't. I will write many slash things, but when you see it, it will be obvious, and THIS STORY HAS NONE. Please review. *instead of rain dance, does review dance to apease the fan fiction gods.*

don't own it, though the part with Draco and Dumbledore at the end, is my own personal insanity kicking in. bet jkr isn't as crazy as to come up with that. *gets thwacked on head* 'I am so crazy, who else would come up with bogey flavoured candy?' fine, fine fine, mrs jkr, you can be crazy too. 'yay!'

have you ever sat in a uncomfortable position for so long

when you have the chance to stretch out

and relax

it actually hurts more

then the pain of the first position did?

This happens to Harry a lot. He thinks he's getting a chance to become comfortable, when he's really only making things worse, and no one is there to feel bad for him. Everyone is already laid on a bed, or on a recliner feet up, or sitting cross legged on a oversized pillow, no one notices the boy in the corner of the room, the boy in the cage. He was shoved in there by horrible people, and his toes are curled underneath his feet so long, his hair is tickling his eyes for so long, his fingernails have dug into his palms for so long, when some well intentioned person comes along and unlocks the door, he can't come out. He's so used to being contorted into the shape others want, comfort is now painful, pain is now wonderful. No one can help him, the only thing that he can do, is find a new cage, a smaller, harder one, and curl in tighter, and then again, and again, and again, until he just folds into himself, and he can no longer be what anyone else wants. He's finally gotten what he wants, to be nothing, to be as small as a speck, to have disappeared. 

Sometimes Harry yearns for his cupboard. He never told anyone, not Dumbledore, not Sirius, not Ron, but he actually liked his cupboard more then his bedroom. Enclosed spaces were comfortable, you knew exactly what you could and couldn't do. When he went flying, sometimes he got scared, until he reminded himself he was enclosed by the boundaries of Hogwarts, enclosed by the quidditch pitch, enclosed by the sky and the ground, and with all these boundaries pressing on him, he was safe.

He both hated and loved his bed, that great maroon thing that no one else seemed to think one thing or another about. On one side, it was much too large. His bed at home, that squished, made for a 6 year old bed, 2, maybe even 3 of them could fit on the monstrous Hogwarts bed. It was far too much room, and he had to stack clothing and library books on one side of it, so it wouldn't let him move in the night. On the other side, it had curtains. Harry was the only one in his room that kept his curtains drawn every night. When he woke up, and his face was tangled in the drape, and he was half smothering, he truly felt safe.

He almost liked his cousin. Of course, he hated him for everything he had ever done, but when Dudley shoved him into a wall, or pushed him down and sat on him, Harry's world shrank. It was what he wanted. He only screamed because he knew if he didn't, Dudley would quickly find some other way for him to be punished. The whole fox and the brier patch thing.

Likewise, he both hated and loved going to the Burrow. So many people, there was nothing like 11 people trying to fit in one table to make him understand the meaning of being cramped in close. At the same time, Bill, Charlie and Percy weren't often there, and the house was so large, Harry couldn't help but feel frightened. It was at times like these, when the house was almost empty, that he went to find Mrs Weasley. Not to tell her how he felt, of course not, he wasn't that dumb, but if he looked sad and lonely, she would inevitably hug him. Between her ample girth, and her tight squeezes, he always knew exactly what his boundaries were, and that he couldn't escape.

He used to wonder how this all started. Supposedly Voldemort passed on some of his traits, maybe he was kenophobic too. He couldn't have been agoraphobic, he obviously wanted followers, he wasn't bother by crowds, neither was Harry. Oh well, what did it matter? The facts were the facts, and the facts were Harry was.

And the facts in most cases happen to lead people to odd places. Harry's entire life was proof of this.

Fact. A parent's love can override death. Leads to Harry becoming a celebrity before he can walk.

Fact. Some people have the ability to betray anyone. Leads to Peter telling Voldemort where the Potters were.

Fact. Some people can't need the truth to be spectacular, and if it isn't, its better to have something spectacular then something true. Leads to Rita Skeeter writing many different lies about Harry.

Fact. Sometimes your enemies can know you better then your best friends. Leads to…

"Harry, I know you should have been in Slytherin." Draco says quietly from his small perch.

"Why? I thought that was over in second year, after I pulled Goderic Gryffindor's sword out of the sorting hat."

"Well, it's just, your dorms, they're in the tower. So much air, you're surrounded by room, it's disgusting. At least in the Slytherin dungeons, you know that around you, just separated by a few feet of stone is dank black earth. It's much safer."

They are curled up, limbs tangled like a yingyang ball. Not because they are attracted to each other. They aren't. At least not sexually. They're just attracted in the way a person is attracted to a person who likes the same music as them. They can understand each other. They're not supposed to be able to. They understand that too. They don't mind hating each other, it's part of the cage that holds them bound.

They are in a closet, in the dungeons, not specifically claimed Slytherin territory, though no one of the other houses really likes the dungeons. No other house understands the safety of being completely surrounded. Why else would the Death Eaters always stand in a circle, cramped up?

"Move over." Harry demands.

"No." Draco retorts, as simply as that.

And that is the proof that they understand each other, that they could never really hate each other, because Draco makes sure Harry has boundaries, and can't be taken by the abyss of 5 inches that moving over would cause. Harry doesn't have to say good, doesn't have to say thank you, because they both know moments later, Draco will try to push Harry over to get more room, and Harry won't let him, and that's thanks enough.

Harry knows of the brand on Draco's arm, but he doesn't mind. Harry had one of his own. Oh, not a death eater mark, but a brand none the same. Though people find Draco's disgusting, and will bow down to Harry because of his, he finds his equal to Draco's. Both are means of pushing someone into a lifestyle, Draco's of killing 'innocents' and Harry's of killing 'evil people'. Both of these terms are crap, but if Harry has to explain that to someone, he knows they will never understand. 

And it will come down to them in the end. They, only 16, already know it. Because, though Draco is from Narcissia and Lucius, and Harry is from Lily and James, Draco has Riddle's hand on his back, and Salazar's blood coursing through his veins, and Harry has Dumbledore's hand on his back, and Godric's blood coursing through his veins. 

They are equal and opposite in everyway. Exactly like ying and yang. But, they are brought together by something as ridiculous as fear of open spaces.

But, maybe this is the fates choice too, to help guide them to their destinies.

Because, if they weren't, would they really have ever met? Would anyone ever understand more clearly the other side, then Malfoy and Potter?

And they had one secret. It was just another thing they didn't mention to allies and friends, something that no one could ever understand. Except the two. And because they both understood completely, there was no need to say it. So maybe it was less of a secret, and more of something left unsaid.

The truth was, the person who won in the end had lost, and the person who had lost had won. Because someone would die. Either absolute 'evil' or absolute 'light' had to die, they couldn't co-exist. And if Harry won, sure good people would run everything, but Draco would get to be the rotting corpse, folding in on himself, knowing that no one would ever force him to do anything, while Harry would be paraded around the wizarding world, and would be told by the ministry and Dumbledore that he could do anything he wanted. And if Draco won, yes, he would control the vast majority of things, Voldmort would want to do much more then sit on his throne and say avada kedavra a few times a day, but he would have to go all over the world extinguishing the last pockets of good wizards, and Harry's skin would get to collapse in on its self and fold, and he would never have to follow other people's orders anymore. Whoever won would get the thing they both hated. Winning WAS losing.

"I don't think it was ever mentioned in any history books, but-" Draco cut himself off.

"What?"

"The night Voldemort came to your house, because of the prophecy, Dumbledore came to mine."

"Why?"

"He had been told there would be some child that would rival the soon to be famous Harry Potter, and might eventually cause the dark ages."

Harry said nothing. This seemed shocking, but it rung true in Harry's core, like few things did.

"He was going to kill me, he tried to kill me. He couldn't. He didn't kill my parents, he was too nice to kill anyone but the specific target. At the same time, the same hour, possibly the same minute, the two most powerful men on the planet tried to kill two innocent babies. And neither succeeded. It's rather funny, if you think about it."

And neither laughed. Harry, because so many people he loved were dead, he never laughed anymore. And Draco, he still didn't talk about his history, but suffice it to say, was just as scarred as Harry's.

But they both smiled.


End file.
